What a Spinster Wants

by Rebecca Connolly

  “Such a vision,” Miranda praised on a delighted sigh. “It’s been an age since I have seen her so full of joy. And that gown! Janet Sterling brought it for her, you know, along with three new gowns, all perfectly tailored, by way of apology.”

  “What for?” Graham heard himself reply, his voice sounding rather distant.

  Miranda tsked beside him. “Oh, she felt so horribly burdened with guilt for not being more present for Edith during her time of need. I did try to tell her that with Francis working towards the betterment of Edith’s position, Janet was beyond all blame, given that someone had to see to the baby, but alas…” Miranda lifted her fan to murmur to Graham. “She swears it did not cost her much at all, though I do not believe her one bit. Such exquisite gowns as that one would have cost a fortune.”

  “Well worth the expense, I should think,” Graham said to himself without thinking.

  There was a soft laugh from beside him that ought to have given him cause for worry. “Very true, my boy, and I do believe she looks even prettier up close. Perhaps you should join the dance.”

  He flicked his gaze to Miranda, knowing precisely what she was doing, then back at the dance. “Hmm,” he rumbled with some thought. “Perhaps I should.”

  “You’re agreeing with me?” came the shocked response. Then, in a much flatter tone, “Why?”

  Graham smiled again. “I make a point of agreeing with anyone who makes suggestions that benefit me. Don’t take it personally.”

  “Never do, Radcliffe,” Miranda laughed, sauntering away. “Believe me, I never do.”

  Despite the obvious proposal, Graham did not dance the next. Or the one following. Or even the one after that.

  He watched, however, with great interest.

  Edith’s enthusiasm did not change with a new partner and did not alter with the variation in dance. Her liveliness and contagious spirit seemed to invigorate the other couples and even the other guests in the room. It really was remarkable. She hadn’t said much by way of conversation in any of the other activities they’d had at this party, and based on his previous encounters with her where dancing had occurred, she hadn’t seemed particularly elated by the thing.

  As far as he could tell, she had enjoyed it well enough, but nothing beyond.

  This, however, was unfettered joy.

  Yet there was nothing silly about it. There were plenty of young ladies in Society that were giddy in the dance, whirling about and flirting shamelessly, taking too much to drink, and behaving without thought. This was far from such a tasteless display.

  This surpassed any other joy Graham had seen before in his life, and he was suddenly envious of it. Envious of the joy. Envious of the lightness. Envious of the laughter.

  Envious of every damned partner.

  He exhaled very slowly, the admission sinking its way down his throat with the warmth and weight of brandy. He wanted to be the one making Edith smile, laugh, dance with such lack of inhibition. He wanted to be the reason she looked thus.

  He wouldn’t have a chance of that standing here against the bloody wall, however.

  Idiot.

  “I do believe the wall will stay there now. You may step away.”

  Graham looked at his aunt almost coldly. “I’ll have you know I was just thinking the same thing.”

  “Were you?” Eloise made a soft, noncommittal sound as she watched the last movement of the dance at hand. “And did you also think it time to stop being so unnervingly observant of one person in particular? I nearly had the magistrate summoned for her protection.”

  “I have yet to find amusement in your statements,” Graham grunted, downing the last of his drink.

  “It’s staring you in the face, Gray,” she assured him. “Right before your nose.”

  He shook his head slowly. “Are you going to your rooms, Aunt?”

  “Of course not, why would you say so?”

  Now Graham looked at her in surprise. “You haven’t been to a ball in years.”

  Eloise raised a brow, her lips quirking. “You haven’t had one.”

  “Matthew did.”

  She waved her hand, scowling. “Matthew had too much fuss at his. This is much more sensible.”

  “Sensible?” He gestured to the pilasters, the plants, the sheer volume of candles. “Sensible?”

  Eloise lifted a shoulder, smiling fully now. “Very sensible, Gray. As always.” She leaned closer, her eyes narrowing. “Perhaps you ought to be a little less sensible. Just a thought.”

  “Thank you for that wisdom,” Graham told her as the current dance finished. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to do the most sensible thing I’ve done all evening.”

  He strode away, unsteady heart pummeling his ribs as he neared Edith, smiling and laughing with Amelia, who was a picture herself, smiling more than Graham had seen her in their entire acquaintance.

  Was that Edith’s influence? Or simply the dance?

  “Lady Edith, Miss Perry,” Graham intoned, wincing at the formal, almost stiff manner he had adopted.

  Both ladies turned to him, smiles still in place. They curtseyed in time with each other, and he belatedly bowed in response.

  “Lovely evening, Lord Radcliffe,” Amelia told him with an earnestness that made him smile. “Truly, this is beyond anything.”

  “Well, it is not Almack’s, Miss Perry, but I’m pleased that you are enjoying yourself.”

  Amelia made a face, giggling. “Almack’s gets so very hot and crowded. This is far more to my taste.” She glanced between Edith and Graham, and her smile deepened. “If you’ll excuse me, I believe I have promised this dance to Mr. Demaris.” She curtseyed quickly and left with almost silent steps.

  He was rather fond of Amelia Perry and made a mental note to thank her later.

  Edith stared at him with wide eyes, a slight smile on her lips that distracted him from concise thought.

  She bit down on her lip softly, and Graham felt his left knee give a little.

  “Dance with me?” he asked with the bluntness of an eleven-year-old schoolboy.

  Her smile deepened, sending his right knee quivering. “I would love to.”

  The musicians began to play again, and the bright, almost brisk melody made Graham frown, shaking him out of his haze. “This… wasn’t exactly what I was hoping for.”

  Edith covered her mouth on a laugh, her barely exposed shoulders shaking. “Nor I.”

  Still, he had to smile, the corners of his mouth steadily spreading the more he stared at Edith. “This is unnecessarily complicated…”

  Her hand dropped, her full lips straining to avoid laughter as she tried for somberness. “We’ll just have to muddle through.”

  “Well, I do have some practice…” He held his hand out to her, his breath pausing in his lungs.

  The moment her hand laid in his, heat surged into his center, and the desire to dance rose with an intensity he had never felt before. Jaunty country dance or not, dancing with Edith would never be anything less than a delight.

  They took their places and began the first movement, matching each other’s patterns perfectly. Edith moved forward to go around Graham, smiling almost shyly up at him as she did so.

  “You’re smiling,” he murmured, his eyes tracing her as she circled him.

  “Aye, I am,” she quipped with a faint brush of her shoulder against his as she moved back to her place.

  He tilted his head at her while the man to his left circled his partner. “Why?”

  Edith giggled to herself. “Should I not?”

  “I’m not accustomed to anyone smiling like that in my presence.”

  The admission caught him by surprise, and he gnawed the inside of his lip to keep himself from wishing it back.

  Edith’s brows quirked just before they moved towards each other, hands extended. “I dinna mean to upset what ye are used to, my lord,” she purred as her fingers hooked into his.

  “It’s not upsetting,” he managed as they turned
in a circle, life itself at the tips of his fingers.

  “But,” she continued without a break, “I think ye mus’ grow accustomed to smiles in your presence.”

  Graham swallowed as they parted, backing into his place. “Must I, Lady Edith?”

  She nodded as the woman to her right circled around her partner. “Aye. From me, at least.” Color began to tinge her cheeks a lovely shade of pink. “And it’s just Edith. Ye’ve gone wi’out the title before, and I’d prefer if ye did again.”

  It was all Graham could do to keep his forward motion to the pattern of the dance rather than going directly to Edith herself. His eyes, however, would go nowhere else. “Then smile as you please, Edith. I look forward to the prospect.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Once in a very great while, speaking one’s mind can have quite convenient advantages.

  -The Spinster Chronicles, 30 August 1816

  “Amelia, are you ready?” Edith asked as she adjusted her lace fichu in the looking glass.

  There was no response.

  Peering around the doorway into the sitting room, she saw Amelia standing at the window, somehow looking fragile in her white and blue sprigged muslin. Her face was hidden from view, but one hand raised to brush against her cheek.

  Edith sighed sadly and moved into the room. “Amelia?”

  It said a great deal about their friendship that Amelia turned to face Edith without hesitation, another tear slowly coursing down the same cheek.

  “Oh, lass,” Edith murmured, going to her friend and taking her in her arms. “What is it?”

  “I can’t go down there today,” Amelia whispered in a choked voice. “I can’t…”

  Edith rubbed her back. “What happened?”

  Amelia shuddered in her arms. “Adaline Chesney criticized me for only dancing with married men and Hensh. She told me I was wasting my opportunities, and if I had any understanding with a gentleman, I should forget it if he were not present.”

  Edith ground her teeth together, irritation rising. “Did she?”

  “I don’t want to forget Edmund,” Amelia hiccupped in a whimper. “I don’t know why I haven’t heard from him, but I want to believe the best! I must. I can’t let him go, Edith, and I just…” Her words dissolved in a mass of tears, her face suddenly burying against Edith’s shoulder.

  “Oh, Amelia…” Edith sighed, holding her closer. “I didna mean for this retreat into the country to be painful for ye. Would ye like to return to London?”

  Amelia shook her head. “No.” She sniffled and pulled back, eyes red and watering. “No, we need to stay. This is good for you.” She dabbed at her cheeks with her sleeve and sighed. “But I cannot face the ladies this afternoon. I’m likely to burst into tears. Will you make my excuses?”

  Edith rubbed her arms once more. “Of course, lass. Take your rest. I’ll come to fetch ye before supper.”

  Nodding, Amelia managed a weak smile and moved to sit in one of the chairs near the fire. “And if you could find a way to trip Adaline somehow, I would not complain.”

  The image made Edith chuckle and nod. “I’ll do my best, lass.” With a wave, she left their sitting room, her smile and amusement disappearing the moment the door was closed.

  How dare Miss Chesney say such things to Amelia! How dare she suggest Amelia go against any understanding she might have had for the sake of convenience and availability! There was no excuse for such behavior. Edith was very much afraid that Miss Chesney was aware of Amelia’s attachment and was using it to cause pain.

  Moments like these were when Edith wished she were far less proper and less well-behaved.

  “That’s a terrible expression before tea,” Miranda stated without hesitation as she exited her rooms and joined Edith in the corridor.

  “The feelings beneath it are far worse,” Edith assured her.

  “Do tell, my dear.” Quickly, Edith related the basics of the situation, and Miranda’s face hardened at hearing it. “I see,” Miranda said simply once the telling was done. “Well, I am not entirely sure how I feel about Adaline Chesney having any sense of Amelia’s tendre over Andrews, but this is…”

  “Andrews?” Edith interrupted in shock, her pace faltering. “Edmund is Mr. Andrews?”

  Miranda had the maddening ability to look completely unruffled by Edith’s outburst. “Of course. Did you not know? Those two have been circling each other for ages.”

  The image of the tall, dark, almost aloof man appeared in Edith’s mind, and she could not, for the life of her, see what Miranda was describing. But she had no reason to doubt the statement, especially since Miranda Sterling always seemed to know the truth of any given situation at any given time.

  One could always trust what Miranda was saying.

  “Amelia and Mr. Andrews,” Edith mused aloud as the pair of them continued down to tea. “What a thought!”

  “They will have beautiful children,” Miranda said on a pleased sigh. “Provided Andrews reappears in the world.”

  Edith smiled ever so slightly. “I suppose I must hate him less for abandoning Amelia, now that I know who he is.”

  Miranda smiled back, nodding. “Indeed. One could never hate Andrews.”

  They neared the drawing room, and Miranda took Edith’s arm, pulling her to a stop just outside of it.

  She gave Edith a very thorough look. “The same need not be said for Adaline Chesney.”

  “It’s no’ me she’s injured,” Edith reminded her.

  The older woman’s expression did not change. “The girl is a spiteful cat who would trod on a child if it would improve her station. She will try to injure you, as you are beautiful, amiable, and marriageable. You do not have to take it with good graces.”

  Edith’s brows rose in surprise as a smile crossed her lips. “Are you telling me to behave badly, Miranda?”

  “I am telling you to stand for yourself, my love,” Miranda corrected, now moving them both forward into the room. “The good Lord knows you deserve to.”

  Edith swallowed and patted her friend’s hand as they moved to the others, the tea service just arriving.

  “The gentlemen are to take tea with the ladies, are they?” Miranda chirped with some delight, though the note of surprise was evident. She smiled at the gentlemen seated around tables or standing nearby. “How marvelously forward-thinking of us.”

  “They will be playing at cards, Mrs. Sterling,” Catherine Tillman said in the clipped tone Edith had grown accustomed to. “We are not so far removed from Society as to forget our places.”

  Miranda gave the young woman a surprised look as she sat gracefully on the divan beside Janet Sterling. “My place is at tea? How peculiar.”

  Edith barely avoided snorting a laugh as she took a seat beside Grace, glancing over at Tony, Francis, and Henshaw, who all looked heavenward in a silent plea for deliverance.

  “Miranda’s on her mettle,” Grace murmured as she took a cup of tea from Felicity Bradford. “How marvelous!”

  Edith could only nod her agreement.

  Catherine Tillman, however, was not amused.

  “The lady’s place is separate from that of the gentleman,” Catherine insisted. “It is widely accepted, and Society does expect it.”

  “I have learned not to pay too much attention to Society’s expectations,” Miranda told her, and, by extension, the rest of them. “If I did, I would have to consider myself a failure for not having given my husband a child. And I can assure you, Miss Tillman, that I am not a failure.”

  There was no way for Catherine to refute that statement, not if she wished to maintain her reputation and position.

  Edith took a cup of tea herself from Miss Bradford and sipped slowly, the desire to laugh rising steadily.

  Miss Bradford looked at Edith with a sympathetic look. “It must be such a relief for you to be away from London, Lady Edith. I can only imagine what painful memories must exist there for you.”

  Edith jerked slightly, barely avoid
ing upending her tea. There was no knowing for certain what pain she was speaking about. She swallowed her tea and chanced a glance at Lord Radcliffe, who had heard, and his eyes were steady on her.

  “Oh, yes,” her sister chimed in beside her. “How you must miss your husband, Lady Edith.”

  Edith breathed a faint sigh of relief and was certain she was not the only one in the room to do so. “I suppose I must,” she replied, smiling with all politeness. “It is a very peculiar trial. But I think Sir Archibald would wish me to move on with my life in the best way possible.”

  Sympathetic nods were all around, and Grace and Georgie hid snickers behind their fans.

  “You poor thing,” Adaline Chesney simpered. “But I heard that you have quite got on with your life, and in a most intriguing way.”

  Edith looked at her in surprise, not caring at all for the tone in her voice. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Lord Radcliffe stiffen slightly.

  “Hush, Adaline,” Felicity hissed in a rather surprisingly dark tone. “Idle gossip is not suitable.”

  “It is not idle,” Adaline sneered. “Ask anyone.”

  “What have ye heard?” Edith managed to ask, trying to look only merely interested though her toes were suddenly ice. “I hope it is at least entertaining. Imagine being accused of tedious rumors and no’ exciting ones.”

  The women laughed easily, and again, Lord Radcliffe relaxed a bit, though his tension was still evident. Clearly, he was minding the conversation carefully when he ought to have been focused on his cards with Mr. Wyndham.

  Adaline gave Edith a smug smile, her eyes glinting. “We all have heard that you have taken on a Scottish lover in your time of distress. That he is a rather large and imposing fellow, and quite barbaric. Tell me, truly, does he wear the kilt in your bedchamber?”

  Diana Bradford gasped. “You have said too much, Adaline,” she chided.

  “You heard that, too?” Felicity asked, looking over at her.

  She nodded. “I did not think it appropriate to repeat!” she said with a pointed look at Adaline, who ignored her.